The language i couldn't keep

I found myself staring at my laptop for quite some time, wondering how I could possibly put into words what I feel about you. It isn’t just a thousand thoughts running through my head—it’s also everything my heart is trying to say but doesn’t quite know how.

Right now, as I watch you on the other side of the line, traveling back home to Zamboanga City, I can’t help but be reminded of the days when we were just two people talking—conversing about everything and nothing, yet still finding a kind of peace in each other’s presence. Communication, I’ve learned, is the key to any relationship, but what follows right after is consistency. And you, in your quiet way, remind me of that every day.

Lately, my life has been a whirlwind—changes, transitions, and the uncomfortable process of leaving my comfort zone. It hasn’t been easy. There are moments I wanted to break down, to cry, but I’ve kept myself still because this is the life I’ve been given. And in that life, you are an unshakable part of it.

Every time I see you—whether in person or through this screen—I begin to understand more about the world, and more about myself. Yet, I know I’m far from perfect. I have my flare-ups, my moods, my inconsistencies. Sometimes, I falter in the promises I make, and sometimes I don’t meet my own standards. But what comforts me is your patience, your steady “sorrys,” and the way you stay, even when things aren’t smooth.

Love, I’ve realized, is never enough on its own. It takes two people—working, understanding, compromising, choosing each other day after day. And that’s what I want with you. Looking at you now, on the other end of this call, I feel both wonder and excitement for the life we’re building together. I won’t just “try” with you. I will do this with you, for as long as we can hold on and as long as we choose to stay.

Wey,

Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for being here now, and for the days still to come. I know the road won’t always be easy, but I promise we will walk it side by side. Not only will we reach my dreams—we’ll reach yours too. We’ll win this life together. And when time has taken us through countless seasons, I hope that your hand will still be in mine, just as it is today.

I love you, always, in all ways.

The Chaos and Growth

 I never really imagined what “adulting” would feel like. And now, here I am—right in the middle of it. Who isn’t, right? I used to hear people complain about chasing due dates and running after bills, and I thought, that’s just part of life. But when it finally became my reality, it hit differently.

Back in Bukidnon, I lived for almost ten years without ever thinking about paying for electricity, water, Wi-Fi, or any other household bills. That comfort shielded me from many responsibilities. But when I moved here to Ozamiz City, I suddenly had to face it all—where to stay, what to eat, how to do my laundry, and basically how to start from scratch.

And starting over, I realized, is no joke. It’s exhausting, overwhelming, and sometimes hilarious. I get stressed just thinking about who will do my laundry, especially when I have an urgent trip and my uniforms aren’t ready. Food is another challenge since I have to be mindful of my health and can’t just eat anything. Recently, I transferred to a new studio pad. It’s a bit farther from the office, but it gives me a sense of comfort and safety—something I’ve been longing for. Finally, I can sleep at peace, and that’s priceless.

When I first settled in, the smallest things made me laugh. I never imagined I would be the kind of person searching for towel hooks, rags, walis tingting, and walis tambo. Yet there I was, standing in the market, realizing that these little things are part of what it really means to build a life of your own. My place is still bare, but it’s a work in progress. Starting out truly demands time, patience, and more finances than I expected.

The real challenge now? Squeezing into my schedule when to pay the bills—electricity, water, Wi-Fi, and everything in between. Thankfully, I have Wey, who often reminds me of the things I tend to forget or wouldn’t normally care about. It makes the adjustment a little lighter, and for that, I’m grateful.

Sometimes, I try to take all these struggles as fun—little adventures that come with growth. Even when it feels frustrating, I remind myself this is part of becoming who I am meant to be. Still, there are moments when I feel the distance. My family is about five hours away, so I rarely get to go home. I miss them, especially my little niece who’s growing up so fast. Whenever I do visit, I realize how much I miss talking to her—this tiny human who now converses with me as though she’s already an adult. (In Bisaya, we say makatubay naman sa storya—meaning, she can already keep up with my stories.)

Oh, life! It really does take courage—not just to exist, but to truly live. Adulting is more than paying bills and managing chores; it’s about finding meaning in the everyday grind, learning to embrace the chaos, and building a life that feels like your own. For me, it’s about living with purpose and, in the middle of it all, choosing to be happy.

Between Bukidnon and Ozamiz City

For weeks, I kept telling myself I would update this blog. But it always stayed inside my head, never quite reaching the page. Life has been moving so fast that I sometimes lose track of what day it is. The transition I’ve been through feels sudden, almost surreal. Even when I’m exhausted at the end of the day, my thoughts still race ahead—planning tomorrow, the next week, and the weeks beyond.

I haven’t fully settled since leaving Bukidnon. For the past ten years, it had been my comfort zone—my quiet place, my anchor, the home I looked forward to returning to. Life there was steady, simple, predictable. I once thought I would remain that way: just a researcher after graduate school, no lofty ambitions, no pursuit of higher positions. In my mind, those things seemed impossible anyway.

But God had other plans.

One unexpected turn led me here, to Ozamiz City—a place I never imagined I would live in. I left Bukidnon almost abruptly, stepping out of my safe space in search of growth. I ran not only after who I wanted to become, but also after a future that, in some small way, could bring me closer to my person—si Wey. That chance, however slim, was worth the risk.

Yet in the middle of all these changes, I realized this season is not only about me. It’s about rediscovering what I want, finding my true purpose, and learning how my life can also help others grow.

Still, the adjustments weigh heavily. My dissertation hangs over me, delayed by this sudden shift. It has only been a month since I left Bukidnon, and life here sometimes feels like starting over again—like I did ten years ago: no friends, no family close by, only work and myself. The difference this time is that weekends can bring a little comfort, as Wey can visit whenever our schedules allow. Even then, unannounced meetings and weekend work trips remind me that life rarely follows our plans.

But life, after all, is full of surprises. What felt uncomfortable at first has slowly become bearable once I accepted that everything happening now is simply part of what lies ahead. These changes are not punishments; they are preparations. And so, I continue to pray—asking God for strength and clarity, trusting that even in the twists and turns, He is leading me toward the story He has written for me.

Someday, this season will be a memory—a chapter in my life’s book. For now, I choose to live it fully, to embrace the discomfort, and to keep moving forward with faith.